


what are you wearing?

by elle_stone



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff, Sexting, very minor background miller/bryan, very minor background raven/gina
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-09
Updated: 2017-04-09
Packaged: 2018-10-16 14:42:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10573386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elle_stone/pseuds/elle_stone
Summary: Bellamy and Clarke, right in the middle of their new-couple honeymoon period, are forced to spend their summer apart. Raven suggests they take the opportunity to practice their sexting skills.Because they couldreallyuse the practice.





	

**Author's Note:**

> BFF Fill for the prompt: "sext: take my glasses and put them down in a safe place before we start making out"

**April: The Honeymoon Period  
**

Miller doesn't even bother asking Bellamy who he's texting anymore. The answer is always Clarke, has been ever since they disappeared at Monty's St. Patrick's Day party and showed up again an hour later holding hands like love-struck dorks. It's actually hard to believe that they have this much to say to each other, but apparently they do. And whatever it is they're saying, it makes Bellamy smile like an idiot every time he looks at his phone.

"What is it this time?" Miller asks him, glancing up from his pre-calculus textbook when he hears Bellamy's phone buzz. His tone is defeated and long-suffering. It's not that he minds being interrupted; he doesn't really come to the library during his free period to study, but rather to sink into one of the disgustingly comfortable ancient bean bags and _pretend_ to study. But this must be the sixth time his own mid-afternoon daydreams have been interrupted, so he'd at least like to know what's going on. "Is Clarke live-texting you American History?"

"She's doesn't have History this period, she has French," Bellamy answers, off hand, as if this should be obvious. He doesn't even look up from his phone. But he does laugh quietly.

"Please don't tell me she's sending you jokes in French," Miller begs.

Bellamy doesn't respond, just sends off a reply and tries, obviously not very hard, to bite back a smile. Which means they are definitely telling jokes in French. Sometimes it's hard to believe he's really best friends with this nerd.

"At least tell me they're dirty jokes."

"If that's what you want to believe, sure."

Miller sighs, and slides down in his beanbag until he's all but horizontal. Out of the corner of his eye, he watches Bellamy push his glasses up his nose, stick his phone back in his pocket (for now), and return to flipping through his English notes. Above him, one of the library fluorescents flickers.

"I just want to believe that you're going to survive the honeymoon period," he says, after a few moments' silence.

Bellamy's brows furrow. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It's the beginning of a relationship... when you're sappy and obsessed with each other—"

"I know what the honeymoon period is. Why do you think Clarke and I won't survive it?"

Bellamy actually looks a bit hurt at the suggestion, which almost makes Miller feel bad. But not so bad that he won't tell his friend the truth. "Because you're so intense," he answers. "You've always been that way, both of you, and now you're together and you're magnifying each other. Look how often you text!" He points a finger in Bellamy's direction for emphasis. "I'm just saying: don't burn out. You and Clarke are the Mom Friend and the Dad Friend of the group. If you break up, there goes the family."

"No pressure or anything, though."

"Yeah—no pressure."

Bellamy shoots him a glare, like all of this is ridiculous and beneath him, then flips another page in his notes. But in an angry way. And in a less than a minute, he's back to the topic at hand. "So what's your point? That Clarke and I are going to like each other so much we start to hate each other?" Bellamy scoffs. An honest-to-goodness put-upon scoff. 

It's kind of funny. 

"No. But when the new relationship bubble bursts, it's a shock. When you fight, or when you're separated." Miller shrugs. "Not every couple survives it."

Bellamy just narrows his eyes and says, "You and Bryan did." This is probably another way of saying _I can't believe you're giving me relationship advice, you've only had one boyfriend your entire life_ , which is what Miller would by saying if the roles were reversed here. In his defense, being one of only a few gay kids in school, living in a dating-prospects wasteland for years, has given him a lot of chances to observe other people and their failings. Which makes him more of an expert than most.

"Yeah," he answers. "But we're easy-going."

Bellamy opens his mouth to say something skeptical or disbelieving in reply, but then his phone buzzes again, and Miller shoots him an _I told you so_ look.

"I think I've made my point."

 

 

**May: The Summer Plans**

It is very, _very_ difficult not to pick up Clarke’s phone and read her messages. Especially since she just left it there, sitting on her bedside table, when she went to brush her teeth. And even more especially as she’s gotten three texts in the last five minutes, and Raven’s pretty sure they’re all from Bellamy. She, Miller, Jasper, Monty, and Octavia have a five-way bet going as to what those two talk about in the relative privacy of virtual space, a bet no one will win until one or the other phone spills all its secrets, and boy, but she really wants to be proven right. Her money’s been on “awkward sexts” since before they even got together.

The first thing Clarke does when she comes back in is jump on the bed, grab her phone, and grin like a lovesick fool. Then she has the nerve to look surprised when Raven asks, “What did Bellamy say this time?”

“Why do you assume it was Bellamy texting me?” Clarke asks right back, with a full-on innocent face that might have fooled Raven when they were freshmen, but definitely doesn’t anymore.

“Please, don’t insult my intelligence.” She grabs the phone out of Clarke’s hands and moves it safely over to the bookshelf. But she doesn’t look at the screen, because she is a moral person at heart. “You know that when you invite your closest female friend to spend the night, there’s an implied no-texting-boys-allowed rule, right?”

“I know of no such rule. Also, you were texting Gina earlier.”

Raven rolls her eyes all the way up to the ceiling, then clambers back onto the bed. “Do I have to explain to you that Gina isn’t a boy?”

“She’s a significant other,” Clarke argues. “It’s the same thing.”

“No, it’s not.” She leans forward, looks Clarke straight in the eye and tell her, very seriously and very slowly, “Because Gina and I have self-control.”

“Bellamy and I have self-control!”

“Mmmmm…no you don’t. Look,” she holds up her hands, like she’ll concede, “Wait until you’ve spent a few days together at the lake house, then ask Abby. See what she says.”

"Bellamy's...not going to the lake house, actually," Clarke admits, with exactly the sort of abashed inability to meet Raven's eye that one would expect from someone who was talking up her summer plans just a few days ago. "He got a job with his uncle in Pennsylvania. He starts the week after finals."

This is exactly the sort of surprising news that makes Raven reach immediately for her phone. “Wait—does that mean you’re going to be spending three months apart?” She doesn't mean to sound gleeful, she's just so surprised that her shocked face starts to resemble a grin. "Is that what you're saying?"

Clarke doesn't seem amused at all. "Ten weeks," she answers. "Yeah."

Raven stares at her another long moment, like waiting for the punch line or another twist, then turns her attention down to the phone she’s still holding poised and ready and starts scrolling through contacts. “Right, okay, time for a new bet. How long can Bellamy and Clarke stand to be separated without one of them spontaneously combusting...?"

She only looks up again at Clarke's abrupt: "What do you mean _new_ bet?" and then it's just to backtrack hard:

"First bet. First. We've definitely never had any bets about the state of your relationship before." Except for that time Miller made twenty bucks predicting that the two of them would get together before spring break. But Clarke doesn't need to know about that.

Clarke just frowns at her, obviously skeptical, and reaches over to grab her phone. “Stop that. It’s not funny. It sucks. The job pays well and that’s great but we thought we’d have the whole summer…” She trails off with a sigh, and lets Raven’s phone clatter, not quite gently enough for Raven’s liking, on the bedside table. Then she settles back against the pillows. Her face has taken on that sad and slightly grumpy expression that never fails to arouse Raven’s sense of sympathy.

“Hey,” she says, as she crawls up the bed to sit next to Clarke and sling an arm around her shoulders. “That really does suck. I mean, you guys were best friends even before this dating thing and now you’re pretty much attached at the hip—what? Don’t give me that look, I don’t mean it in a bad way.” Yeah, this has been the group’s favorite joke for a while now but that’s mostly because they had to wait over a year for these two emotionally repressed fools to figure themselves out. It's such an incredible relief to have their friends' obvious feelings out in the open that they can't help talking about the school's new it couple, and all the cliché heart eyes they throw each other all the time.

Apparently Clarke doesn't take the comment as seriously as her initial overwrought pout implied because, in another moment, she's curled up against Raven's side again, sighing quietly. "I know it's not a big deal and we'll be fine. I'm just going to miss him a lot."

"I know you will."

"But we're still going to text all the time."

"Obviously."

"So we'll be okay."

"Definitely. And hey," Raven adds, squeezing Clarke's shoulder, an extra buoyant lilt to her voice, "there's a bright side: this is a great opportunity for you to practice your sexting skills."

Clarke pulls back and gives Raven a skeptical look that puts all previous skeptical looks to shame. "I can't believe that's a serious suggestion."

"Why not? We live in an amazing technological age, Clarke. You should take advantage of it. Why even have a cell phone if you're not going to use it to close the distance on your long-distance relationship?"

Clarke's expression has shaded into disapproval by now, which is not a great look on her. Not that that has ever stopped her before. "I didn't know that technological advancements were primarily about improving our sex lives."

"Well now you do. Seriously, Clarke—it's fun." She speaks from some personal experience, but they don't need to get into the details of that. "Worst case, it's silly fun. Best case, it's actually hot. And ten weeks—"

"Isn't that long."

"Is kind of long." Even as she speaks, Clarke's phone buzzes again from its spot on the bookshelf, and they both glance over as its screen lights up with a new text. "Especially," Raven adds, "for you two."

 

 

**June: The Eternal Separation**

                                                                                

_Clarke_ : u up? 

 

(He's up. It's not even 9:00 and barely past sunset, the tail end of twilight shading in through his window as he skims the same paragraph again and again, but he can't blame her for the question. When she texted him yesterday at this time he was asleep, passed out cold over the blankets with this same book open on his chest. It had been a long day. Tonight he's tired and bleary eyed but thinking of her. Wondering if he should call her. Missing her and trying not to miss her.)

 

**Bellamy** : yeah

**Bellamy** : trying to read

 

_Clarke_ : am i interrupting??

 

(For the last hour, she's been out on the dock, splashing her feet through the water and watching the clouds. A terribly indulgent long evening. The sort of evening she has often at the lake house and rarely feels guilty about, because it's that type of magical place, like a bubble where reality is never allowed in. A storm is coming and the air feels humid and thick with almost-rain. She's inside now but restless and thinking of him.)

 

**Bellamy** : no. can't concentrate anyway. can barely keep my eyes open

 

_Clarke_ : long day?

 

**Bellamy** : always... more hours means more $$ at the end of the summer tho. can't complain

 

_Clarke_ : u can complain if u want. should i let u rest?

 

(Probably. He stares at the text for a long time, until the words start to blur in and out of his vision. He rubs at his eyes under his glasses. Tomorrow he's working again, almost as many hours as he worked today and he should probably go to sleep but they only get to talk in the evenings anymore, and he wants to hear about the way the wind disrupts the calm surface of the lake or what it's like to bike for miles down the dirt road into town or what adventures the protagonist in her spy novel is up to, as she slips in and out between his world and the rhythms of the rocking chair on the lake house porch.)

 

**Bellamy** : rest is for the weak

 

_Clarke_ : says the boy who just told me his eyes were closing all on their own. really are u ok?

 

**Bellamy** : yeah i'm fine

 

(Anyone else and she wouldn't believe him. Anyone else, and she'd joke about how, yeah, she can't read tone over text very well but those few words sounded awfully tired to her. There was a downright exhausted sigh to them. Maybe you should get some sleep, fool. But this is Bellamy, and she knows he'll send bleary texts until his eyes really do give out on him, sliding off into unconsciousness with his phone still held lightly in his hands, his last stubborn message something like _really awake i promise_. Maybe, probably, she shouldn't encourage that in him. It's just that she wants to keep talking to him, way too much. Her fingers hover over the keys. She's undecided if she wants to press the subject just a little more or not. Then three little dots pop up at the bottom of her screen.)

 

**Bellamy** : i want to keep talking to you

 

(Well that solves that.)

 

_Clarke_ : <3

 

(She rolls her eyes at herself as she presses send. Sending her boyfriend a text consisting of nothing more than a heart is exactly the sort of cutesy couple thing they try to avoid doing—and not just because their friends would mock them mercilessly if they knew. It's more that, yes, they're dating...but Bellamy is still also her best friend. She doesn't want to be too...cliché.)

 

_Clarke_ : raven called me today

_Clarke_ : apparently her girls in engineering program is 'valhalla'

 

**Bellamy** : only raven would compare summer camp to warrior heaven

 

_Clarke_ : dont say that to her face

 

**Bellamy** : i'm not an idiot

 

_Clarke_ : when i told her u were going to pa this summer she said we should take the opportunity to practice sexting

 

(Bellamy's eyebrows shoot up and for a moment he thinks only that he should probably get on this snapchat thing because whatever expression he's making right now is one Clarke should see. Especially because he can't quite find actual words to answer. The suggestion—is it a suggestion? or just a funny anecdote? just something random to say?—does wake him up, though. He sets his book safely aside on his bedside table at last, and pulls himself up into a proper sitting position, legs crossed and back hunched over, while he stares down at his screen.)

 

**Bellamy** : k... did you mention raven so you could tell me this??

**Bellamy** : is this a nefarious plan?

 

_Clarke_ : no

_Clarke_ : i am shocked and insulted

 

(It's weird, it's weird and so much harder than she thought it would be, to be separated from him. Because talking to him has always been easy, and now, when he’s just a few pixelated words on a screen and she can’t read his tone or reach out for his hand, trying to parse him has started to become a challenge she doesn’t know if she can meet. She paces over to the window and leaves her phone on the sill. Clouds are gathering over the lake, blacking out the twilight sky so she can't tell what hour it is, and she's already forgotten what day; this sense of being out of time makes Bellamy feel all the more distant. It's stupid how she wants to second-guess everything she says to him and every text he sends her back.)

 

**Bellamy** : right, clarke griffin and nefarious plans are opposites

**Bellamy** : was it awkward? i think talking about sexting w raven would be awkward

**Bellamy** : have you ever done it before?

 

_Clarke_ : sexted w raven? no. u?

 

(Okay, she's not mad at him. He feels a little ridiculous for thinking she might have been mad at him.)

 

**Bellamy** : haha

**Bellamy** : sexted generally

 

_Clarke_ : no

_Clarke_ : it sounds...

 

**Bellamy** : awkward??

 

_Clarke_ : like how would you even start??

 

(Bellamy types out a few words, then erases them, because actually, he doesn't know. No idea. Sexting knowledge at zero. But more importantly, he can't tell…is she asking him because they're talking about how silly the whole concept of sexting is or because she actually wants him to start? He lies back and holds his phone up over his face and just stares at her question with his fingers poised to answer, totally unsure. If only she were here. If only she were next to him, warm and close, and he could judge by the glint in her eye or the tilt of her smile just how serious she was. But then if she was next to him right now he'd probably want to kiss her. He probably wouldn't be able to stop himself from kissing her.)

 

_Clarke_ : i think it would be embarrassing

 

**Bellamy** : so we probably shouldnt do it

 

_Clarke_ : are we thinking of doing it?

 

**Bellamy** : are we?

 

(If any of their friends ever got their hands on either of their phones they would never, ever live this conversation down.)

 

_Clarke_ : i dont know!

 

(She's standing in the middle of the room biting her lip, leaning back on her bare heels, thinking. Building up courage.)

 

_Clarke_ : i will if u will

 

**Bellamy** : yeah it would be weird if only one of us were sexting

 

_Clarke_ : weird...or harassment

_Clarke_ : be serious w me

 

(He gives his room a once-over, as if there were someone in one of the corners, watching him. As if he were doing something dirty or forbidden.)

 

**Bellamy** : who starts?

 

_Clarke_ : u

 

(Okay, it was a dumb question. He laughs a little, mostly at himself—he should have known better than that. He taps his thumbs against the edge of his phone, moves his ankles around, fidgets, waits. Clarke isn't typing. She's somewhere in Virginia, in her house next to the lake, lying in bed maybe, thinking about him. Maybe her hair's down, fanning out around her face, or she has it one of those perfect braids she wears sometimes, except that it's started to get messy and unkempt at the end of the day. And she's probably wearing one of the soft old t-shirts she sleeps in. He and the guys crashed a sleepover at her house once right at the beginning of high school—they were being assholes basically—and she was wearing a shirt like that, her dad’s old UVA shirt, and it's still how he pictures her, swimming in a too-big t-shirt and her legs bare and fuzzy slippers on her feet.)

 

**Bellamy** : ok

**Bellamy** : ok

 

_Clarke_ : just write whatever comes to mind

_Clarke_ : what would u do if we were actually together right now?

 

(She'd climb right on top of him and hug him as close as she possibly could and then she'd breathe in his scent because it's one of those little things she misses more than she has any right to miss, after three weeks apart: how Bellamy smells and how tightly his arms wrap around her when they hug and how strong he feels, how strong and secure. But that doesn't sound very sexy. She sits down right at the edge of her bed and taps her feet and is glad she tricked him into going first.)

 

**Bellamy** : ok i got this

**Bellamy** : first take my glasses and put them in a safe place before we start making out

 

(She rolls her eyes when the message pops up on her screen. What is she going to do with him?)

 

_Clarke_ : u are a nerd

 

**Bellamy** : oh yeah now youre talking dirty

 

(She sends him an emoji of a smiley face sticking out its tongue.)

 

_Clarke_ : ok so i set your glasses aside

 

**Bellamy** : in a safe place

 

_Clarke_ : they're safe

_Clarke_ : then i climb on top of u and kiss u

 

(It takes her several minutes just to type out those few words, and it feels like a few hours, biting her lip hard and trying to find something sexy to say. And still her message doesn't actually sound like much of anything, now that she looks at it again. But how can she explain that she wants to be lying in bed with him, right here in her simple bedroom with its wooden walls and floor and the old blue comforter on the bed and the checkered curtains over the window that looks down on the water, kissing him lazily as she feels his hand run down her back, as she traces the breadth of his shoulders and the muscles in his arms? How can she explain that she misses every little bit of him, that she wants another chance to memorize all those details of his body that seem hazy to her now, so she never has to feel this distant from him ever again?)

 

**Bellamy** : i...kiss you back?

**Bellamy** : this is weird

 

_Clarke_ : kissing me is weird?

 

**Bellamy** : haha

 

(Kissing her has never been weird. Not even their first kiss, which he always thought—and yes, he thought about it a lot, before it happened—would be mismatched and uncertain just because that's how first kisses are—even that first kiss was perfect. Easy. Like they were on the same wavelength and knew exactly what to do, how to angle themselves, like she knew with just what strength to grab at his arms and he knew with just what speed he should wrap his arm around her waist to pull her close. The only challenge at all was forcing himself finally to pull away. Even then, catching his breath, looking at her pink-cheeked and smiling at him and feeling her still pressed warm and real against him, that was more than a little all right. If she were here with him now, he'd know what to do. He'd tangle his fingers up in her hair and he'd kiss her slowly, a flicker of his tongue against her tongue, and then he'd lay her back against these sorry old pillows he stole from his uncle's closet and he'd start to kiss down her neck.)

 

_Clarke_ : i sit up and take off my shirt

 

**Bellamy** : i admire how fucking gorgeous you are

 

_Clarke_ : i take your hands and

 

(She lets her eyes close slowly as she types out the last word, and sighs, feels herself sinking until she's on her back on her bed, her arms fallen down to either side of her, fingers just barely wrapped around her phone. Far off in the distance, a low rumble of thunder sounds. The truth is that there is nothing more to add. All she really wants is exactly what she said: to take his hands. She used to spend a lot of time just staring at his hands, when she was first coming to terms with the feelings. The feelings that used to scare her, the ones she takes out all the time now, rolls around and contemplates and takes comfort in. Those not-just-friendship feelings that well up when she thinks of him. Bellamy's hands are large and strong and she wants to set her fingertips against his fingertips, to trace the veins on the back of his hands, to follow the vein down the inside of his wrist. He'd ask her what she's doing, what's so interesting about his arm. She'd say _oh nothing_. Then they would be silent. She's picturing him next to her with their legs twined up and his other arm around her, all bare skin, and the window open, and a breeze coming in. Maybe the light echo of rain against the sill. That thunder still in the distance. Her feet play with his feet. He kisses her forehead. She falls asleep wrapped up in him.)

 

**Bellamy** : was there supposed to be more to that sentence??

 

_Clarke_ : do u know what i would really like?

 

**Bellamy** : um

**Bellamy** : sex on some unusual piece of furniture?

**Bellamy** : that's like a sexting type fantasy right?

 

_Clarke_ : no

_Clarke_ : just to have u here

_Clarke_ : like to cuddle or something

 

(There is only one conclusion to be drawn here. They are really bad at sexting. Bellamy sighs up at his ceiling, not because this is bordering on pathetic—he forces himself not to look over their last few texts, for fear of catching second-hand embarrassment from himself—but because he doesn't care. The only fantasy in his head right now is falling asleep with Clarke next to him; the smell of her shampoo that he can almost conjure, if he just concentrates really, very hard; the light touch of her fingers trailing down his arm, her arm wrapping around him, her ear over his heart. He misses her so fiercely. He can't even pretend to describe the way it feels to miss someone this much.)

 

**Bellamy** : i would like that

 

_Clarke_ : i think we suck at sexting

 

**Bellamy** : raven would say so

 

_Clarke_ : guess she'll have to teach us bc apparently she's the expert

 

**Bellamy** : i didnt need to know that

 

(Clarke turns off her overhead light and turns on her bedside lamp instead. She pulls back the old blue comforter on her bed. Outside, the thunder breaks again. She can hear rain.)

 

_Clarke_ : hey bellamy?

 

**Bellamy** : still here

 

_Clarke_ : i miss u a lot

 

(Bellamy can hear his neighbors, moving in the apartment next door. The blue light of his screen seems unbearably harsh in the almost-darkness. He pushes his glass up off his nose and rubs at his eyes, then just takes them off, snaps the ear pieces down and sets them on the bedside table. He’s not so near-sighted that he can’t make out the words on his phone if he holds it up just a little bit closer than normal to his face.)

 

**Bellamy** : i wish you were here

 

(She curls up on her side, under the blanket.)

 

_Clarke_ : u could hold me

 

**Bellamy** : all night

 

(He smiles at his phone.)

 

_Clarke_ : hey maybe we’re getting the hang of this sexting thing after all

 

**Bellamy** : raven would be so proud

 

(She would like to tell him that she loves him, in that casual and easy way she used to do all the time before they got together. Now she's afraid the words, instead of meaning what they have always meant, might sound too sudden or too loud. She's afraid he might overthink them.)

 

_Clarke_ : i love u, u nerd

_Clarke_ : goodnight

 

(He smiles and whispers, **_you're_** _a nerd_ at his screen.)

 

**Bellamy** : i love you too

**Bellamy** : goodnight


End file.
